


Fairy Tale Hell

by FanForFen (puddinghead3)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Now For Something Completely Different, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst and Romance, Because of Reasons, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford in Love, Dominance, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, I Love Cullen, I Love You, Kinky Cullen Rutherford, Love Triangles, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Not Dragon Age: Inquisition Compliant, Oral Sex, Prince Cullen Rutherford, Romance, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sweet Cullen Rutherford, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Royal Romance Book 1, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddinghead3/pseuds/FanForFen
Summary: Once upon a time...That's how these things start out, right? A beautiful princess living in a land of hopes and dreams, rainbows and unicorns, everlasting love and all that sparkle nonsense.Except, I'm ordinary. I'm just a girl, trying to keep a smile on my face when real life isn't pretty or easy. Reality is the obnoxious villain that slaps you on the rear over and over, pestering you to buckle up tight and wear clean underwear.Because you never know when a simply average day will end up being something magical after all...





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

> I love you for your curiosity, thank you for clicking <3
> 
> I'm trying something different. Even though the lovely Cullen Rutherford has a lead role, this isn't a traditional Dragon Age story (I'm sorry). That means there's no Inquisition, no Herald, etc. That also means there's no Solas (which breaks my heart) but he's the main squeeze of my other story Maker's Balls And Then Some, soooooooooo...
> 
> Still with me? Fabulous!!
> 
> After reading a CYOA visual novel, I decided a my-style retelling was in order. The words flowed easier than my other story at the moment and I'm having a great time with it, so I thought I'd go ahead and post. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping you find it entertaining. I LOVE COMMENTS, so let me know what you think! 
> 
> *Characters, plot, and some dialogue belong to Pixelberry.
> 
> *The wonderful character of Commander Cullen Rutherford and any related Dragon Age dialogue belongs to Bioware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins... <3

The porcelain is cool and hard against my forearms as I lean over the sink, hanging my head. I'm taking a break (aka hiding) for a few minutes, having just ushered out what I sincerely hope was the last of our customers for the night. I think I used up my last polite smile with my insistent wave farewell. My fingers had ached to turn the deadbolt and flip the sign closed, but I couldn't.

Not yet.

It's still twenty more minutes before closing and I'd better not dare to even think of locking up a second sooner, or my boss will have my ass.

And boy would he relish that...

 

_Don't do it! Don't make a hot dog joke._

_Hot dogs and penises, I'm not in the mood._

 

I blink tired eyes slowly at my reflection, sufficiently unimpressed. The harsh florescent lighting making my blue eyes bloodshot and my pale skin blotchy and flushed with pinkish splotches. Not that it matters. Not that I really care. No one I've met but Manny, seems to have a taste for pastey redheads anyway.

Manuel aka 'Manny', my octopus armed manager with his heavy gut and overly friendly fingers. _Yuck_. If I didn't need this job so badly, I'd get real serious with a skillet the next time he got too handsy.

Sighing quietly, I pull out all my hair ties. Running my fingers through the overdue for a washing, copper-blonde in wiggling, detangling motions and smoothing the frizz. The sore spot on my crown burns a little and I rub it a few times before twirling the thick strands into a tight coil and rewrapping them in a doodoo roll bun, repositioning the mass at my nape. I eye myself critically, reconsidering the idea of hacking off the length to something more manageable. Maybe tonight. I'll be sad to be honest, but it makes sense. Less headaches, less shampoo, less annoying tangles and drying time. Practically over vanity and all that responsible crap.

There's a light knock on the bathroom door and the hesitant voice of my coworker Daniel filters through asking if I'm okay.

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second.” I grumble halfheartedly in the super cheerful 'I've been here a million hours and I'd really like to be sleeping now' kind of way. Turning on my faucet full blast, I drown out the rest of his soft-spoken response. Using the water and a paper towel, I fix the eyeliner smears on both corners of my eyes. Even the most waterproof of makeup isn't supposed to last twelve hours despite what they promise on the cardboard packaging. 

I wish I could wash it off.

Yeah. No.

 

_Ever seen a natural redhead without makeup?_

_It's the necessary warpaint that keeps me from looking like a cleaning lady with a sun allergy and an unhealthy vampire obsession._

 

Feeling guilty about my rudeness, I shut the water off firmly and open the door, almost stepping on Daniel in the process. A hopping hurtle over his foot with mild inhalation of surprise, and I'm catching myself on the far wall. I swallow the curses dancing on the tip of my tongue, my eyes spearing him with a questioning look.

“There's a table of guys... They just came in...” He cringes at the expression on my face and I flinch, instantly striving for neutral.

 

_God I'm tired. Too tired for boys and their games._

 

Daniel shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I was hoping that I could convince you to take it...”

The bones of my toes creak in pinched protest at his words. I'd be lucky if they'd even give me a five dollar tip, total. And we're talking at least another hour's worth of work past closing time. To think, cleanup was mostly done... luck is not on my side tonight.

He ducks his head, peeking up at me bashfully. “I wouldn't normally ask, I promise, but Travis hinted at a special surprise if I came over tonight.”

I'd like to say that's all that it'd take to sway me. The promise of young, blossoming love. God, that'd make me such an awesome person. Rooting for their happily ever after, with my pompoms shaking like a bulimic in a buffet line at The Golden Corral. I wish asking me sweetly with his long eyelashes fluttering was enough, but it's not.

I'm not that nice. 

I try and be a hero anyway, but my head shakes back and forth all on its own. “Sorry sweetheart. I've got places to be and things to do.”

 

_Liar._

 

The poor guy looks absolutely crestfallen for a couple of seconds, but then a mental lightbulb goes off. He thinks of something and his spine stiffens, “I'll give you ten bucks.” The determination in his voice clues me into just how serious he is about pawning off these new customers. 

 

_Tough._

 

Look, I know what real poverty is. I’ve seen it. I've stood near people who would kill for the ten dollars an hour I used to complain about getting for babysitting, when everyone else I knew got fifteen. But that was before, when I lived the privileged life of a middle-class teenager.

That was before _everything_  happened.

Now, I could use every single dollar possible, but the thought of sloughing through a bunch of man-boys with the combined wit of a labradoodle... I can't even. I'm already imagining the head-splitting booms of laughter and gag-worthy jokes.

 

_Don't tap my foot impatiently. Don't roll my eyes._

 

I cross my arms over my chest firmly. “No. I don't have the patience for a frat boy party tonight, I'm sorry.”

“Fine. I'll give you twenty, and they aren't frat boys. It's a bachelor party.” He imitates my posture, crossing his thin arms over his his chest too. The gesture doesn't have the desired impact since he has to tilt his head to meet my gaze. 5'9" is pretty tall for a girl and Daniel's an adorable little guy.

Emphasis on the little. 

 

_Damn it. Stop being cute._

 

A bachelor party is worse, if anything. One last night of freedom, out on the town to prove what a great catch they are. Talk about testosterone overload. It'll be pure torture. They're probably already sloppy drunk and at the munchies stage of alcohol consumption. Hopefully they just got confused and accidentally wandered here instead of a strip joint. “Daniel...” I sigh and rub the crease between my eyebrows, feeling myself start to cave.  _Don't do it. Don't do it._

“I'll give you half the tips I earned this evening.”

 

_Seriously?!?_

 

“Seriously?!?” I echo in disbelief. No way is he serious.

He nods emphatically, his pout of disappointment turning into a blinding smile of triumph. He bounces on his toes at both syllables of my okay. I envy his energy. It must be nice to start your work shift at noon. Must be nice to have security and enough money for bribing coworkers. But I can't be mad, he's too sweet and I really do need the money. 

There's barely enough time to ruffle the highlighted spikes of his brown hair, before he's off and running. Not entirely, but he sure does untie the black apron at his waist and spin off towards the back of the building in a hurry, calling over his shoulder about leaving my money in my locker.

 

_Fuck._

 

My sigh is brief. The pep-talk I'm forced to give my feet before I can make them move the right direction, a little less so as I head back out to the tables. 

 

_This is going to be a long hellish night..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::Squeeeeeeeeeeezy hugs::
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	2. Money Talks, or Does It Walk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, Fairytale Folk! Let's make it more fabulous with a new chapter!!!
> 
> Yep. I'm not much of a traveler to exotic locations (even within the United States). It'll eventually be relatively obvious that I've never been to New York City, soooooooo please suspend your disbelief and bare with me. 
> 
> Take my hand as we skip together through a fantasy land where somehow things work exactly how I want them to. 
> 
> <3

 

_Think of the money. Think of the money._

 

I pat the little key hidden on its chain between my breasts absentmindedly in perfect cadence my internal mantra.

There's almost enough saved in my little lockbox to start over again, tucked away to keep desperate fingers from digging into the stash. Even with emergency spending only, it's difficult. Everything here is just so damn expensive. I've been here several months now, and that might be a couple too many. My curiosity drew me, the hustle and bustle dazzled me, but this is a harsh city. The lights are too bright and the noise is overwhelming. This place is a bit too hard, or I'm just too damn soft.

Maybe New York City was the wrong move.

In the beginning, getting lost in the crowd was a relief. In the beginning, being an anonymous girl amidst a mass of busy and uninterested people was the breath of fresh air I needed.

 

_Now I just feel lost._

 

I remember how relieved I was to leave behind all the condemning stares and whispers from the tiny southern town where I was born. Stares and whispers that escalated like a wildfire, the occasional 'innocent' but caustic tongue wagging evolving into 'accidental' shoves. Soon they didn't even bother to hide their contempt behind all the 'bless your heart' bullshit, and things got very real, very fast.

 

_I had to escape. I had to run away. What other choice did I—_

 

“Waitress, there you are. We need your finest table available.” A darkly handsome man cuts in on my thoughts and I'm momentarily shell-shocked. _**Wow**_. He flashes blinding, ultra white teeth at me in a practiced and charming way.

He's used to making an impact everywhere he goes, that's obvious, and I can certainly see why. An Arabian prince in a tailored suit that looks like it costs more than every last dollar of my entire nest egg.

 

_What a goddamn waste._

_Too bad I'm mentally allergic to excessive wealth._

_Call it wisdom or a lesson learned the hard way. Call it whatever you like, the imaginary hive-like result is the same._

 

Suppressing my shudder of revulsion, I look around doubtfully at the shabby state and aged interior of the empty bar. The tackiness grows on you over time, but still… There isn't anything that would qualify as 'finest' in the whole joint.

“Forget the table. Just bring us whiskey, and lots of it.”

My eyes shift over to the owner of that deep, smokey voice. Bachelor Party Guy #2 turns away from slatted panes of bar's front window and wanders closer. Strange that I hadn't even noticed him standing over there, I'm usually more observant. It's even more difficult to imagine once my attention falls on the new guy. He's lean but not lanky, tanned in a natural olive-skinned kind of way, and tall.

Like really, really freaking tall.

Towering over both me and Mr. Polished, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his well-worn jeans, frowny-faced New Guy doesn't look at either of us. Instead, he stares down at his scuffed boots, his mouth pulled flat in a line of distaste, his tousled almost-black hair blocking most of his face and completely hiding his eyes. Those shaggy locks just begging for a haircut aren't artfully styled in any kind of sexy, messy way. The ends stick out a haphazard manner, like he just rolled out of bed and uncaringly used his fingers.

Speechless, I ping pong back and forth between them, unsure which request/order to acknowledge with action.

 

_Prince or Pouty? Which is the ringleader?_

 

I'm unsure, uncomfortable, and more than ready to disappear in the bathroom again. Thankfully, the front door chime dings and another voice intrudes, making the decision for me.

“I call dibs!” It's practically shouted in a sing-song, saturated with enthusiasm and barely contained laughter. The newest addition to the group is a whirlwind of activity, barreling past us and sliding his khaki clad butt across the leather-like upholstery of a booth close-ish to the bar. The two guys still waiting for me get over my wide-eyed deer impression and do my job, join him without comment.

 

_Well I guess that makes things easier... Thanks Broadway, with your freshly pressed pleats! I owe you one!_

 

I shrug at my own silliness and follow, pulling the writing pad out of my apron pocket and flipping it open to a fresh page. “Okay, what can I get you guys?” I say once they're all settled, automatically reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind my ear.

Except I just redid my bun and there is no loose hair to brush back, so I just end up with a hovering hand near my earlobe and looking weird. Smiling brightly to cover my awkwardness, I clutch my pencil tighter to the paper and wait.

 

_Why am I so off my game? Yes, they're attractive, but I've seen hot guys before._

_I need to chill out if I plan on making any tips whatsoever._

 

The newest new guy Dib-Caller looks at my ear and then at my hand, smiling sympathetically. His twinkling green eyes lighting up his charmingly boyish face. He definitely appears to be the youngest of the three, and the most normal. And being the only one who who seems genuinely friendly, I smile tentatively back at him.

 

_Ha! The most normal..._

 

His designer polo and khakis scream trust fund. All he needs to complete the high-end department store mannequin look is one of those ridiculous sweaters tied loosely around his neck. It's nice that he doesn't seem to have the condescending attitude that I would normally associate with such an outfit. Maybe he should give the other two some valuable pointers on how to interact with us lowly peons in a more approachable fashion.

Dibsy, my instant comrade in arms, is observant and charmingly exuberant. And also apparently very undrunk.

None of them are.

 

_What kind of bachelor's party is this?_

 

Dib's grin grows wider and he slaps the table alternatingly with his palms in a catchy drum staccato. “How about some steaks, all around?” His chin moves as he asks his buddies for their agreement before winking at me.

Scruffy McGrump slouches in his seat, raking his blackish hair back impatiently. His giraffe neck gives out suddenly, no longer able to tolerate support the weight of all that scorn. Head dropping backwards, it thumps on the top of the seat. “I don't need steak, just the whiskey. And stop flirting with the waitress, Maxwell.” He glares at the ceiling as if it somehow offended him terribly.

 

 _Grump Stump would be the hottest of the three. Such a shame he's obviously a dick._ _I've barely met him and I already want to punch some manners into that stupid, sculpted jaw._

 

“One whiskey coming right up, and don't worry 'the waitress' doesn't mind the flirting,” I speak up tartly in defense of Maxwell, feeling a little protective in the face of Broody's unnecessary caustic tone. I regret my altruism the second that glare is turned on me. Eyes so dark that I can't define their color, hold me hostage until the heat climbing my neck makes me squirm. His lip lifts in sneer of contempt before he smooths it flat and looks away.

 

_What's with all the animosity?_

_Well, fuck you too buddy. Asshole much?_

 

Dark Prince of Fanfare elbows Maxwell and leans forward, poking Sir Glares-a-lot with a nicely manicured finger. “Just ignore Drake like we usually do. Now, how about some filet mignon, medium rare and prepared with a bearnaise sauce?” His smile is the same one as before. The exact same.

 

_Does he only have a couple expressions that he pulls out and uses like store credit to get what he wants? I wonder if he has flash cards for when he forgets the proper human emotion._

_What a strange guy._

 

I catch my snort before it can escape past my lips, tapping my pad with the tip of my eraser. “The closest thing we have to a filet mignon is the deluxe burger.”

“Dare I ask for your wine list?” Darkly Dashing deflates like someone spit chewed up Skittles in his grits, and I see the edge of Drake the Snake's mouth twitch. _So there's a sense of humor somewhere under all that bitter after all._

“We've got an excellent vintage house red…” I can't resist poking.

“ _House red_?” Double D looks horrified at the thought.

 

_Another almost-believable expression! I should keep a checklist!_

 

I smother my snicker. Mostly. “It also comes in white...”

Mr. Hostility, also known as Drako Malfoy, aka Drake, rubs the bridge of his nose with a knuckle and takes a deep breath before straightening in his seat and dropping his hand. “We'll be fine with a bottle of whiskey and four deluxe burgers.” He takes charge of the conversation. Midnight eyes are back on me and I freeze, almost biting through my lip in surprise.

“Four?” There's another of them? Seriously? What's next? One of them has an identical hot twin?

It's like there was cast-calling for painfully attractive men of every woman's taste. There's the mysterious European, the All-American barely-legal boy next door, and the grizzled motorcycle mechanic sans the permanent 5 o'clock shadow and lit cigarette.

 

_I wonder if they'd be willing to pose in a months of the year calendar? Dude. I'd be rich enough to quit this shit job and move anywhere in the world I'd like._

 

Drake doesn't say anything, he just nods at something behind me as his answer. I turn with an awkward shuffle of my feet, again embarrassed. I didn't mean to block someone from sitting down, I thought the party was complete. These three were more than enough.

“I'm sorry, please excus—” the apology gets stuck in my throat as my eyes fall out of my head and roll across the perpetually sticky floor.

Whoa…

The world is chocked full of beautiful people, and oftentimes us mere mortals get to even interact with them. But always from afar. You know, while they hail a cab across the street, or through windows of fancy pantsy eateries as they share a meal with their matching gorgeous counterpart.

 

_Holy. Hallelujah. Hell._

 

And then there's the next level of extreme above that. On a whole different plane of existence. The kind of inhuman perfection that leave you speechless, breathless, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as you stand there with your jaw unhinged and lips flapped open like oozy slugs barely avoiding a salt parade.

 

_Eyes that drip like warm honey along the bare and pebbled flesh of my... ahem…_

_The multi-faceted amber of my favorite IPA easing down my throat through achingly parched… uh…_

_The golden gleam of a natural predator preparing to feast on my naked… Oh my god. Stop. Right fucking now._

 

Absolutely normal brown eyes crinkle at the sides. Framing them with brackets of lucky little expression lines, making them even more perfect.

 

_Jesus. It's like staring into the sun._

 

My pencil falls from numb fingers rolling away in a desperate escape attempt only to be abruptly stopped short by the sole of the man. Stuck between a slow blink and lightheaded flutter, I get the briefest glimpse of the shiniest blonde hair I've ever seen this side of a shampoo commercial. Metallic Buttercream scoops up the pencil and tries to hand it back to me. “Sorry I'm late. Thank you for your patience, Miss…?” The straight white teeth of his welcoming smile remind me of the pearly gates of—

“…Heaven…” It comes out a breathy sigh, a little slurpy with all that extra saliva pooling around. Mortified, I wipe my wet mouth with the sleeve of my white button down shirt and realize with I just said.

My name is not—

“Heaven, what a beautiful and unusual name. I'm charmed to make your acquaintance.” Dimples dig deep in the dirty blonde stubble on his cheeks as he continues smiling down at me. Like my face belongs to someone else, my own cheeks lift and I dazzle him with my best smile in return. Then, I quickly look away. He's one of those way too handsome to look directly at kind of guys.

The pleasure is all mine. My god are you fine.

“It's nice to meet you!” I address the floor with confidence. “Let me go put in the order, I'll be right back with your drinks.” Quickly, I skirt around him and hightail it to the kitchen. It's only after I repeat the order to the cook and wait for his usual grunt of response, that I realize I didn't take my pencil from his outstretched fingers.

 

_I'm an idiot._

 

Turning my head to hide my continuous blush, I duck behind the bar to retrieve the guy's drinks. Usually Sylvia the bartender would be handling that, but she requested off after the evening rush, leaving me behind to sling drinks for any stragglers. A task I'm not particularly skilled with, so I'm thankful for the simplicity of their order.

With pleasure I select our most expensive bottle of whiskey, load up a tray with glasses and a bowl of cocktail nuts and make my way back to the table to drop all of it off.

 

_I'm sure I'm not wowing them with my amazing charm and waitressing skills, but if I make the ticket bigger, maybe my earnings will be higher._

_They look like they can afford it._

 

I flash my best professional forget-my-earlier-behavior slightly sheepish smile, meeting the four guys gazes as they all look up from whatever they were doing before I arrived. They all smile back in a friendly and welcoming way. Welcoming-ish. Kind of. Drake looks at me suspiciously with his mouth set in an unforgiving line, and Dashing pastes back on smile #2a.

 

Well, two out of four ain't bad.

Does Drake ever **not**  look grim?

 

My lips are locked in place like a looney tune, but inwardly I grinding my teeth as I lay down the chipped coasters and parcel out the glasses. My mind has blanked out on idle chatter, and I can think of nothing interesting to say. I almost upend the bowl of nuts in my hurry for retreat, but salvage it at the last moment with an accidentally cool move. The guys think I did it on purpose, bless them. Maxwell even claps.

I perform a little bobbing curtsey for some insane reason before backing away quickly to find refuge in my safe zone behind the bar.

For the next one hour, forty-three minutes, and fifty-five seconds I try very hard to not keep glancing at the clock. Mostly, I busy myself with closing down the bar. Very, very thoroughly. The damn place is cleaner than it's ever been before.

 

_I hope Manny doesn't get any bright ideas._

 

The cook only interrupts my manic cleaning to ring the order up bell. He's a pretty great guy, as far as I can tell with the grunts he's given me to work with. His wide girth and bald head, sporting remarkably small but protruding ears, reminds me of a loveable and familiar green ogre. He's never introduced himself to me or even spoken a single actual word that I can recall, so I started calling him Mike.

He doesn't seem to mind. Or if he does, he certainly hasn't said anything...

 

_Ha! You know, because he doesn't talk?_

 

So anyway, Mike abandons me after the first hour. The burgers have long been served and eaten, and now I'm just waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting…

Trying very hard not to tap my fingers impatiently. Instead, I grab a relatively clean cloth and dive back into work, busying myself with tasks no one in their right mind would attempt. Like prying open the cabinet doors I had assumed were permanently stuck together forever, to discover what evilness lurks beneath the sink.

 

_What the hell is that? Oh god. Is that a rat?_

_I'm not touching that. No flipping way._

_How does this place pass the health code?_

 

I check on the guys again as a responsible adult alternative, completely comfortable leaving the unidentified thing to rot for all eternity. I've left the four superstar-studs to their own devices for the most part, only checking on them occasionally. I don't watch them with the absorbed interest of born-again virgin scrolling through extra kinky porn on a library computer.

That'd be unprofessional and rude.

 

_Okay, so I sort of watch them a little._

 

Blonde Adonis with the stubble talks animatedly at length, hands gesturing wildly as he regales some story that has them all holding their sides with laughter. He's a bit easier to handle from a distance, especially if I pretend he's a fictional guy from a far away land. He'd be an awesome main character and the others could be his party companions.

Speaking of... Even Dour Drake seems to have relaxed somewhere along the line. I don't know if it's the company or the whiskey. Whichever be the case, I fight the urge to listen in and spin around, forcing myself to keep my back to them as rewash the mismatched glasses _for the third time_.

With my head in the clouds, I start thinking of grand adventures to send my pretend men to explore. My hands continue on in autopilot, wiping glasses and reaching up to put each one carefully on the shelf, lined up with the rest of the crystal clean row.

There's a sudden tap on my shoulder. “I think we're ready to head out. I just wanted to thank you… and apologize.”

“Ahhhh!” It's an unflattering screech. I'm so startled, the current glass almost drops from my fingers. I scramble and clutch it to my chest like I used to with Hopsy my favorite stuffed bunny friend. My heart frolics in a spastic rhythm, beating back geriatric folk in a conga line of questionable intent.

It's Buttercream the blonde god. He stops himself mid-lunge with his hand outstretched, aborting the motion before he ends up groping me accidentally. Huffing a breath and chuckling, he apologizes again as he straightens the front of his jacket. “I know we kept you late, and my friends can be demanding.”

My eyes stray over the cut of his charcoal gray suit, black shirt, and gray tie. The look is tasteful and striking, but his broad shoulders are too bulky. They interfere with the whole CEO elegance vibe he has going on, giving the impression that he's more the hired muscle type. But his face, _Jesus his face_. It's all strong angles and power—a firm jaw, straight nose, lips only marred slightly by a small scar bisecting one chiseled bow…

 

_Quit it. Stop being ridiculous. Chiseled bow?? For real?_

 

I shake my head, trying to knock loose the inappropriate thoughts. “Demanding?” I force a slightly high-pitched laugh. “They're not so bad, they all seem pretty nice actually.”

He quirks an eyebrow several shades darker than his carefully styled, short golden waves. “ _All_ of them seem nice?” His cheek creases in a half-smile, the dimple a barely-there dent.

I smirk, unable to resist. “Well, maybe not that guy, Drake… but everyone else was really great. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I didn't mind staying late.”

 

_Liar._

 

“I get the feeling that you could take care of yourself. You're very... competent.”

I could be, and probably am imagining things, but his pretty peach cheekbones look momentarily a little extra peachy. If he doesn't watch himself with all those flowery almost-compliments, I may just develop a crush on the guy.

“If you don't have any other plans tonight…uh… maybe I could make it up to you by buying you a drink? We're headed to a club once we leave here.”

“Huh?” Yep. It just plops out. I've got nothing.

 

_He's… asking me out? That can't be right. No way._

 

Any hint of dimple disappears when he clears his throat awkwardly “I apologize, you're probably already busy. Maybe some other time.”

I'm so distracted, mourning the loss of that sunny smile, like a baffoon, that I almost skirt right over the him talking thing.

Adonis ducks his head in a bashful way that I absolutely do not understand.

 

_Oh my. He is!_

_I think._

_Be cool. Be cool._

 

“Oh really? Which one?” I try and act all nonchalant, like getting asked out by god-like men is an every day occurrence. On the inside my brain is a studdering mess.

“We were hoping you might have some advice on that. We're not from around here.” The dimples are back.

After putting up the glass I forgot I was still holding, I casually lean back on an elbow. Unfortunately, the newly polished bar is still too slippery for good traction and my suave move almost turns into a concussion. I sidestep quickly and save myself from my own clumsiness before he can swoop in and embarrass me further. “Honestly, I recommend forgetting the club and going to this awesome secret cove I know by the beach instead,” I say with a confidence that's mostly fake but totally believable, absolutely and completely ignoring my almost fumble.

Broad shoulders relax and he lets out a relieved breath. “Someplace quiet actually sounds perfect. To be honest, I'm getting tired of the usual bachelor party antics.” He bows in a strangely courtly manner, gesturing outward with his hand. “Lead the way!”

 

_Uh._

_Did he really just? Did I really just? Are we? What is happening here?_

 

“Sure! Just let me finish up here and I'll meet you out front!” _Who is this weird woman talking in such a vividly energetic way after working 800 hours? The hell???_

While my mind is repeatedly rebooting in every shade of 'huh' there is, my mouth is agreeing to meet them out front, and my head is poking into Manny's office to tell him I'm headed out. My legs are busy taking me in glazed autopilot bliss, first to my locker for my beat up army surplus backpack and then to the bathroom to freshen up.

The haze clears when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my backpack thuds at my feet.

I'm a mess.

My pale skin looks feverish, my color bright and high on my cheekbones. My eyes look wide and glassy, but brimming with happiness. I feel odd, kinda sick but excited and hyper like I just downed an entire energy drink in one prolonged swig.

 

_Oh Lord. Is this what being high on life feels like?_

 

My eyes fall to my work uniform and the mouth in the mirror pulls down in a grimace. Kicking my uncomfortable, cheap black flats off my aching feet, I crouch down, pawing desperately through my bag that contains everything that I own. I pull my combat boots from the bottom and shove them against the wall out of my way. I own exactly two pairs of shoes, they're just gonna have to do.

This isn't a movie with a costume designer and an endless wardrobe, waiting in the wings to bestow on me the perfect outfit. It's not a silly phone game where I have an imaginary closet that I can pillage mercilessly. And my backpack may be on the large side, but it's not a magical bag of wonders. I don't have much selection to choose from.

Quickly, aware that I have four men waiting on me,  I settle on my dark jeans because they look the least worn and a dark red v-neck shirt made from a slinky style fabric that makes it a little dressier. Deciding to splurge on a new pair of panties straight from the cellophane pack, I pull on thick socks before layering on my chosen clothing and adding a fresh swipe of deodorant. Last on is my oversized, badass black leather jacket, a little big for me because I stole it from my stepbrother.

 

_Stealing is wrong, I know but I don't care. Quint owed me._

_No I don't want to talk about it._

 

Rolling everything into nice, tight jelly rolls first, I stuff everything back into my backpack, dirty shoes and clothes at the bottom on top of the small lockbox. Opening a side zipper pouch, I slap on some Covergirl. Swiping the oil off my eyelids first, I smudge on some darker grey shadow and fresh liquid liner for the smokey effect. Pulling out my hair ties and shoving them on my wrist, I bend over at the waist to do a fast fluff of my hair, praying to the volume gods for a miracle. Slinging my heavy bag over my shoulder, I automatically adjust to the weight of it.

One last glance at the mirror and I'm ready to go.

 

_This is not how I planned on spending my night, but it sure is exciting._

_I honestly have no idea what to expect..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3 Feel free to let me know whatcha think!


End file.
